


kiss me like you used to in the january rain

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Non-Canonical Character Death, References to Canonical Character Death, So much angst, Unhappy Ending, post-show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 09:19:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17916071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Saving the world puts things in perspective, like how stupid it is to not go after exactly what you want and need, even if that’s your dipshit, jackass brother who you’re in love with.But of course, nothing good can last.





	kiss me like you used to in the january rain

**Author's Note:**

> so me n mac had discussed a few different variations on klaus knowing abt diego dying in various different circumstances, and i decided to try my hand at one of the possible scenarios. there's no happy ending here, folks. this is just very, very sad.
> 
> thanks to hannah for beta'ing, sorry it made you cry!! 
> 
> i would say enjoy, but...?

It isn’t some big production.

There’s no itch or alarm in the back of his mind; the world doesn’t shift on its axis. It isn’t as if Klaus suddenly _knows_ , by some cosmic virtue (or cosmic _joke)_ that Diego is dead. There’s no sneaking suspicion or a gut feeling that something’s gone wrong. There’s also no phone call from the team, and there’s certainly no bat symbol (umbrella symbol?) displayed in the cloudy sky.

Klaus knows Diego is dead when he walks in the front door dry as bones, even though it’s pouring rain outside the mansion.

He feels faint, like he might be sick. Diego is staring at him and for one, awful moment Klaus thinks Diego might not even realize what happened. There’s _nothing_ worse than having to explain to someone that they died, that’s something Klaus has learned over the years with painful clarity. Diego just stands there, covered in blood, leather of his suit torn and jagged. Klaus braces himself for the worst talk; the words aren’t even out yet and they’re already quaking in his throat.

Then, Diego looks up at him, and gives him a sad smile. He knows.

Klaus isn’t sure if that’s better or worse.

He stumbles forward and Diego actually lifts his arms as if he’s going to catch Klaus should he fall. He seems to realize his conundrum all over again, because he lets out a tired laugh and shakes his head. Klaus keeps tripping his way closer until they’re as close to toe to toe as they can be, given Diego’s nothing more than a figment.

“What happened?” Klaus croaks. Already, the guilt is welling up inside him like a backed-up faucet. He should’ve gone on that mission, he should’ve been there, maybe he could’ve helped, maybe he could’ve stopped this.

A chill against his cheek brings him out of his spiraling thoughts. Diego’s hand is against his face like a cold wind. “It’s alright,” Diego says.

“It’s not.” Klaus’ head is swimming. He’s never hated being sober more than he hates it right this fucking moment. It’s Ben, all over again, but a million times _worse_. Ben died before he and Klaus ever figured their shit out, too emotionally stunted by dad and their powers and the enormous weight upon them as superheroes. Even growing closer to Ben after his death hadn’t changed anything, because Ben was _dead_ , and that was that.

This, though. Diego. This is worse. Klaus reaches up and clutches at his own chest, right over his aching, beating heart. Saving the world puts things in perspective, like how stupid it is to not go after exactly what you want and need, even if that’s your dipshit, jackass brother who you’re in love with.

Klaus bites his tongue on a sob. “What happened?” He asks again, the words shaking and crumbling once they hit the air.

Diego sighs and his brows draw together with frustration. “I’m not...sure.” He says it like it pisses him off, like the very concept of his death makes him mad.

Klaus can relate; under all his sadness is a burning, simmering rage. A pot that’s bound to boil over.

“I don’t know,” Diego says again. “There were too many of them. I thought Luther and I had it handled. I was wrong.”

“I should’ve been there.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.” Diego moves closer, raises his other hand to leave a chill across Klaus’ other cheek. The cold touch coupled with the tears streaming down his face makes Klaus’ face clammy. “It wouldn’t.”

Klaus shakes his head. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Diego says, and Klaus wants so badly to hit him. To sock him across the jaw or pound against his stupid chest or kick him in the fucking shins.

“You _don’t_ ,” Klaus counters petulantly. He needs to cling to this guilt, it’s the only thing keeping the overwhelming sadness at bay, even if only temporarily.

Diego sighs and lets his ethereal hands fall away from Klaus’ face. Even though the touch was cold, Klaus misses it. He misses Diego’s warm, calloused hands more.

“Do the others know?”

“I think Luther saw, but I’m not sure. One minute I was snapping a neck, the next I saw my body on the ground, and then I was here.”

“I didn’t mean to summon you… I didn’t even know.”

Diego shrugs. “I think I just knew this is where I needed to be.”

A new wave of tears hits Klaus’ eyes and streams out, unable to be contained. “What the fuck,” he whispers. He holds his head with shaking hands. “What the _fuck_.”

The chill reaches his shoulders. “C’mon, c’mon it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, Diego, you’re fucking _dead_.” Klaus does reach out this time and thrusts a hand through Diego’s chest. The chill crawls up his arm like a vice. Klaus wrenches his hand back and cradles it to his chest.

“I,” Diego starts and stops. He looks down, almost seems chastised.

“Fuck,” Klaus hisses again. “What am I supposed to do, huh?” His voice ticks up in volume, he can’t help himself. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?!”

“I don’t know, Klaus.” Diego’s form looks rough, uneven. Klaus forces himself to breathe evenly, keep his powers in check so he doesn’t send Diego away quite yet. Klaus scrubs a hand over his face and it comes away wet. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t fucking apologize!” Klaus spits it out with a hysterical laugh. “You _died_ , it’s not like you fucking did it on _purpose_.” He shakes his head. “It’s always been a risk.” The words burn like acid. Silence follows Klaus’ words, maybe because they’re painfully true or maybe just because they’re painful. Klaus doesn’t know what else to say, all he knows is he doesn’t want Diego to go, yet. He never wanted Diego to go at all.

“I need a favor,” Diego says suddenly.

Klaus finally looks up again. His eyes are tired, his head hurts. The floor is cold under his feet and all he wants is warmth but it feels like it’s gone, now. Maybe he’s just standing too close to Diego.

“Klaus, please.”

Klaus squeezes his eyes shut, and opens them, focuses them intently on Diego. “What?”

“I don’t…” Diego sighs again. “I don’t want you to call on me, after this.”

Klaus thinks his heart might stop beating in his chest. Sure, Ben doesn’t hang around much anymore, but he never put a _rule_ on whether or not Klaus could call upon him, either just to chat or for some help fighting the newest baddie of the week or whatever. His whole body feels like an earthquake, shattering apart.

“Wh-what?”

Diego’s lips pull down in an apologetic frown. “I don’t want to linger. I don’t want to be some hopeless, sad, wandering spirit.”

“But Ben—?”

“Ben’s different.” Diego cuts across him sharply. “He didn’t get to grow up like the rest of us. I’m glad he had you. I’m glad you had him.” Diego takes a step back, and despite the shivers, Klaus reaches out a hand. “But I don’t want that. I don’t want to be some parlor trick. I don’t want to be around you all and feel like a...like an outsider, looking in. Can’t touch you, can’t talk to the rest of them, _nothing_.”

The worst part is, Klaus thinks, he gets it. He’s not sure he would want that either. It seems lonely—and Klaus certainly wouldn’t ever want only himself as company. That’s enough to drive a man, or spirit, insane. His lower lip quivers because he already knows his answer.

“Please, Klaus.” Diego holds out a hand, as if to shake. His smile is even sort of sweet, funny almost, if it weren’t also painfully bittersweet.

Klaus swallows his whine. He reaches out and fits his palm against Diego’s. For one brief second, he can feel the callous in the center of Diego’s hand, the warmth of his worn palm. It’s gone as quick as it came, though, and Klaus shuts his eyes as he curls his fingers around the icy air that is Diego’s hand.

The chill hits Klaus’ lips, his cheeks, his forehead, his lips again. If he concentrates hard enough he can almost feel the chapped and cracked pressure of Diego’s mouth on him, can remember the sensation enough to bring it back to life. He thinks Diego might whisper something, something far more tender and sweeter than they’ve ever said before, regardless of if they have their shit together or not. For that single moment, everything feels _almost_ real.

It’s not quite enough though, and when Klaus opens his eyes again, Diego is gone.

He sinks to his knees with a sickening crack against the hardwood. His hands hang limp at his sides, and his whole body feels cold.

 

He’s still sitting in that same spot when the others arrive. He’s not sure how long it’s been. He’s not wearing a watch and there are no clocks around; even if there were, his eyes probably wouldn’t focus long enough to read the time anyway.

His siblings come in together, slow and somber like a funeral march. In Luther’s arms is Diego, and the sight nearly has a smile on Klaus’ face. Diego would fucking hate to be carried like that, cradled in Luther’s arms like an infant.

“Klaus,” Luther starts, his own voice uneven.

“It’s okay,” Klaus says, echoing Diego’s earlier words. “I know.” He makes to stand and his bones creak in protest. Vanya rushes over to help him, lets him lean on her little form. He holds her close. “I should’ve been there.”

_It wouldn’t have made a difference,_ Allison signs. It doesn’t feel any better than when Diego said it.

Klaus shrugs. His body is exhausted. His knees hurt worse than his head and his eyes feel like they’re still leaking; you’d think one person could only cry so much, and you’d be wrong.

“Is he…” Luther trails off.

Vanya finishes for him. “Is he here?”

Klaus shakes his head. “Not anymore.”

“Could you—?” Five starts.

“No.” Klaus interrupts him, voice firm. “He came here.” And god his voice is wobbling like a newborn fucking deer or something. Part of him feels pathetic and part of him just fucking stings, like an open wound under a waterfall of salt. “He asked me not to call on him, once he was gone.”

Vanya and Allison gasp, while Five mutters a sharp _“fuck”_ under his breath. Luther simply looks stunned.

Klaus doesn’t look at any of them. “Can we...can we set him down? Maybe in the sitting room? I need a minute.”

Luther nods and his long strides carry him to the ugly couch sitting in the center of the room. What was once an ornately decorated room with lavish furniture is now a much more understated, modest sort of space. Perfect for their little get togethers, or late-night rendezvous, Klaus thinks with a faint smile.

Luther comes back from the sitting room; no one else moves. Klaus nods in thanks, and follows the same path to the couch, pausing only to shut the large oak doors behind him.

He falls to his knees again, this time on the plush rug under the couch. He rests his head on Diego’s body and listens for a heartbeat he knows he won’t find. There’s no rise and fall of breathing and no _thud thud thud_ of a working heart and when Klaus reaches out to touch Diego’s neck, his skin is cold already. Just like his spirit.

“Fuck,” Klaus whispers. He presses his face against Diego’s chest. The blood spattered across him is dry and flaking off, and Klaus doesn’t even care. He just needs to be closer, for a little longer. He holds Diego’s unmoving hand and cries against his chest.

Eventually, when it finally feels like he has no more tears to give, he sits up. He doesn’t let go of Diego’s hand as he leans over, and kisses in the same pattern Diego had kissed him: mouth, cheeks, forehead, and mouth one last time. It’s cold and clammy and stiff, but it’s still Diego.

Klaus squeezes his hand. For a second, he very seriously considers saying “fuck it,” and just summoning Diego’s spirit anyway. He’d be pissed, but maybe with everyone else here he’d see reason. He’d see that no one wants him to leave yet, least of all Klaus. He thinks on it for a few more seconds, each passing one making the idea sound better and better.

He looks at his palm, **_HELLO_** staring back at him. He lets go of Diego’s hand, and **_GOODBYE_** haunts him. Suddenly he feels sick, suffocated. He stands and sways, head full of cotton and dried up. He rushes to the doors and yanks them open; he doesn’t listen as Vanya yells after him, or as Five tries to follow him. Five could jump, if he really wanted. He’d be right there. He doesn’t, though, and Klaus’ longer legs carry him quickly to his bedroom.

He slams the door shut before falling onto his bed, curled up as small as he can manage. He lets out sobs and shuddering gasps for air, mixed with pleas and cries of Diego’s name. He tries to keep it down but knows he’s probably loud enough for the whole house to hear. He pours out his sadness and rage in cries until his throat is raw.

Klaus doesn’t exactly feel like a piece of him is missing, or at least nothing he can’t reasonably function without. It’s clear nothing can be the same, but it’s not clear what exactly will change, or if the crippling anguish will ever fade this time around. Klaus doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that he won’t see Diego again, wonders if he could get closure that way or if the moment in the foyer was all he really needed.

Klaus knows from experience that there’s no cure for what he’s feeling. Not even drugs or drinking will really take it away, so there’s no point in even trying. Time might help, but it’s no guarantee. Things from the past still haunt him, still jolt him like a nine volt when he’s least expecting it. There’s no perfect fix to Klaus’ hurt, just as there was no cosmic interference to let Klaus know what happened.

There’s nothing special about the day Diego dies; it’s hardly a blip on the universe’s radar.


End file.
